


Recovery

by fictorium



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post- 1x10.  Jane's trying to recover, but there's someone very important missing from the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

  
Jane tries opening her eyes without much success. She can feel the light on her eyelids, hear a humming of machinery and murmured voices, but waking up is just asking more of her body than it wants to give. With a sigh, she lets the darkness claim her again, promising herself to try harder next time.

*

When she does manage to wake, her mother's tired and worried face is staring back at her. Maybe Jane is a little out of sorts, but her mother looks older than Jane remembers. She can hear the soft rumble of her father's voice somewhere to her left, but when she tries to move her head it feels like stone. With a weak smile, she tries to tell them that she's fine; it doesn't look like anyone is buying it.

*

Consciousness gets easier, in between the times when nurses sweep in with a new plastic bag for the IV that's making the back of her hand itch. Jane tries her best, with a permanently dry throat that no amount of ice chips seem to ease for long, and she makes small talk with her parents, discusses the ongoing case with Korsak and Frost, and fields a flattering number of visitors from the department that make her realize she might just be valued after all. There's a lot of talk about going after the guys who did this, updates on Frankie's condition that ease some of the frustration about not getting to see him for herself.

The doctors fuss over her each day in the morning, trailing their residents around like performing seals who recite the facts of Jane's wound and surgery, detailing her recovery as though she's not even in the room. The nurses are friendly but efficient, their natural affinity with cops meaning that Jane never has to ask for her meals or a TV remote, and little is said if some of her buddies don't quite stick to visiting hours.

It takes a couple of days for it to sink in, but of all the faces sitting next to her bed, Maura hasn't been one of them. Jane tries not to feel hurt by that, but it's there even despite the drugs and the dull ache from somewhere near her diaphragm where her sutures are slowly healing.

*

Eventually the hurt turns to anger, and because Jane is a Rizzoli, that process doesn't take long. Frankie is wheeled in to see her, and though he's a sight for sore eyes, she begins to rant about her best friend's abandonment. She expects Frankie to get angry on her behalf, but the poor kid just looks confused.

"She's been to see me every day, Jane. She's been the one telling me about how you're doing. Well, mom does, but Maura does the medical talk, you know?"

Which doesn't make sense, because Jane knows she would remember Maura coming into her room. It's a specific feeling that Jane has whenever her friend is around, an ability to relax that's been missing the whole time she's been confined to her hospital bed. So she lets the orderly wheel Frankie back to his own room, just next door it turns out, but not without strict instructions for him to send Maura right in to Jane's room on her next visit. This is one mystery the detective cannot let go.

*

She tries not to be impatient, but the morning and evening visiting hours pass without any sign of Maura. In fact, Jane is just about to receive whatever-the-hell that's helping her sleep through the night when she hears the telltale click of designer heels in the hallway. It's just good observation that she knows the sound of Maura's walk, Jane tells herself, and she begs the nurse to hold off on the medication for a while.

Sure enough, there's Maura in the doorway when the nurse bustles out. Jane can't help but notice, even in the dim light of the hospital room, that Maura is pale and drawn. No amount of expensive makeup is hiding the dark circles under Maura's eyes, and Jane feels a little less self-conscious about her own battered appearance. While Jane's own hair is pulled into a loose ponytail and she's just had a sponge bath, Maura is the one who looks worse for wear, even despite the spotless clothes and tasteful jewelry.

"Hello stranger," Jane says, and her voice comes out rougher than she meant it to. Maura, always a little awkward, finally enters the room and folds herself into the visitor's chair. She doesn't make eye contact, which Jane finds weird and frustrating in equal measure. It's not like Maura can claim to be freaked out by hospitals; she's a doctor for God's sake.

“Jane, I—“ Maura begins, but she’s fidgeting with her watch, and the rest of the sentence never comes. “Sorry, I have to go. I need to feed Bass.”

With that, Maura is scuttling off into the hallway, and before Jane can do much about it the nurse is back with the promise of much-needed rest. Jane accepts, more hurt by Maura’s unusually weird behavior, and vows to investigate further in the morning.

*

Morning brings further frustration, in the shape of Jane’s mother. Angela means well, which Jane has been telling herself for pretty much her whole life, but her fussing and insistence that Jane eat even when she has no appetite is a battle that’s already wearing thin. Getting up for her daily walk, calling in on Frankie, it’s a relief. Doesn’t stop her mind from churning, even less so when her mother starts talking about how Maura came to the house last night bearing food, like any honorary Italian should.

The doctor brings good news, promise of an early discharge if Jane gets her dressings changed regularly and doesn’t exert herself until the healing is complete. Even the prospect of some freedom has Jane’s sore muscles tensing in anticipation, and so she nods and makes promises she probably won’t keep. She’ll say anything to get home, to start putting her life back together.

When she’s alone again, she pulls back the dressing under her right breast and stares for a few moments at the angry scar that’s forming. As she does, she notices the fading white scars on her palms and forces herself to remember that time, more than anything, is what will heal her.

*

It’s only when Jane is rattling around her apartment like a disgruntled prisoner that Maura next makes an appearance. She claims that Angela is busy with Frankie and can’t come to walk Joe Friday, and so Maura volunteered.

Which only makes Jane angrier, because the friend she’s come to rely on as much as anyone, as much as she _can_ rely on anyone, is treating her like an inconvenience.

“So you’re here for the dog?” Jane just about manages to keep her voice calm.

“Yes, Jane. I did just explain that. I’ll take him to the park.” Maura is just about maintaining eye contact, but she’s clearly itching to leave. When Maura moves to pick up the dog leash, something in Jane snaps and she steps right in the way.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Did I say something mean about your shoes when I was tripping on painkillers? Or is it just boring that I got injured in the line of duty again? Seen it all before, is that it?”

The reference to Hoyt isn’t fair, but Jane’s clenching her fists in anger and the slightly damaged tendons in both arms twinge as another reminder. She doesn’t get why her best friend is treating her like a leper, and one way or another it’s ending tonight. Let Maura walk out and never come back if that’s what it takes, but anything is better than this weirdness.

And it works, if the sudden flush on Maura’s face is any indication. Her jaw tightens the way it does when someone moves morgue equipment without permission, and Jane wants to fall to her knees in thanks that she’s finally getting some kind of reaction.

“That’s the damn problem, Jane! Don’t you get it?”

Jane shakes her head, waiting for the answers she feels that she’s owed.

“You weren’t injured in the line of duty. You took an unnecessary risk and almost got yourself killed! Needlessly!”

Shaking with anger, Maura has no problem looking at Jane now, and Jane forces herself not to shrink back from the glare.

“I did what I had to do! Frankie couldn’t afford to wait, and nobody could get a drop on Marino.”

“Someone would have made the shot. There were snipers, for God’s sake! But no, Jane Rizzoli can’t trust anyone else to get the job done; _she_ has to take pointless risks.”

Jane steps forward, ignoring the shooting pain in her stomach. It feels good to be shouting, to be fighting instead of lying down and letting shit happen to her. Maura looks healthier now too, the fire in her eyes making up for the tiredness on her face.

“I did what I had to do. And if you were the one putting your ass on the line, you’d have done the same!”

That blow lands a little harder than Jane meant it to. It’s the frustration; now that it’s pouring out she can’t quite control it.

“ _If_ I put my ass on the line? Like performing emergency procedures with you panicking next to me? Or when a dirty cop is pointing a _gun_ at my head? Is that on the line enough for you, Jane?”

It’s embarrassing to concede that Maura has a point, but Jane does her best to shrug it off. Nobody gets to judge her for this, she was the one looking at a bunch of crappy options and getting the job done anyway.

“Yeah, well you weren’t the hostage. I’d do it again, no matter what you or anyone else says.”

There. Take that.

“Would you? If I told you how it terrified me? Would you still do that to me, Jane? Make me see that happening to you, like I do every time I try to close my eyes?”

Oh.

Oh.

Jane hasn’t been thinking about it like that, not even when her mother was crying and wailing about the two children she almost lost on the same day. But if ever there’s a time to be selfish, Jane really thinks that recovering from a bullet wound qualifies. Given the choice, Jane wouldn’t want anyone who cares about her to witness the shot, of course, but she couldn’t control that more than she could stop Marino.

She doesn’t know how to tell Maura that she can’t remember that day clearly, that her brain won’t let her relive it other than in jumbled fragments in her dreams. All she remembers is pain, a sound like the sea rushing in her ears, and a flash of Maura running towards her in a red dress as Jane fell to the sidewalk in a heap. Jane can’t see Bobby’s face, or remember how Frankie looked when she left him. She’s been told by everyone that Frost and Korsak had her covered the whole time, but try as she might she can’t conjure up an image of them from that day at all.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was too busy getting shot to think about how it might affect anyone else. Is that what you want to hear?”

Maura relaxes just a little at the apology, her eyes slipping closed for just a second as she considers the words. Jane contemplates a hug, wondering if their friendship is on safe ground again or not. She doesn’t get a chance to decide before Maura speaks again.

“I was so scared. I called your name, but you wouldn’t open your eyes.” Maura’s voice is barely above a whisper, and Jane feels worse with every word. “Even when the EMTs started working on you, you were out the whole way to the hospital. And I realized—“

But Maura doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, she pushes gently past Jane and picks up the leash.

“Anyway, Joe Friday needs his walk. I’ll just… go do that.”

Jane is slow to react, her head still puzzling over the words not said. Maura is out of the door with the dog following eagerly before Jane can do much to stop her, but she sinks to the sofa and decides to wait her out.

Twenty long minutes later, Maura slips back into the apartment, clearly hoping that Jane won’t be waiting for her.

“What did you realize?” Jane has to ask. She almost suspects, or thinks she does, but she needs to hear the words out loud.

“Don’t make me, Jane. I’ve already damaged our friendship with my reaction. Let’s just focus our energies on restoring our equilibrium, okay?”

Jane is defiant, rising from the sofa to confront her friend at closer quarters.

“Don’t spit out a dictionary at me, Doc. It won’t scare me off. Now please, tell me what you were going to say before. Please?”

It has to register how a big a deal it is for Jane Rizzoli to ask nicely. She’s not far off begging, for God’s sake. If Maura knows anything about Jane, she knows that. Fussing with some imaginary lint on her tight black dress, Maura exhales hard, clearly accepting defeat.

“I realized, and I should state now that this creates no obligation on you whatsoever, that if I were to analyze my feelings objectively in that moment, I would be forced to conclude that I care for you.”

“I know you care about me, dummy.” Jane hardly dares breathe as she offers Maura a way out.

“I mean, as more than a friend. It’s puzzling to me, since I consider myself almost exclusively heterosexual. Kinsey had some interesting ideas, but I just never entertained the notion that I… well, anyway. There’s my mortifying revelation. Can we just forget it, please?”

Jane doesn’t quite know what to do with herself having heard Maura’s confession. She does know, however, that she’s been troubled by similar thoughts since coming around in the hospital. It’s been getting harder not to blur the lines, between impersonating lesbians and putting herself in harm’s way to protect Maura, and honestly Jane isn’t sure what to call it anymore.

Because Jane Rizzoli is not a lesbian. Not that she has a problem with that, because hello, Boston born and raised; Massachusetts is kind of the bluest of the blue states, after all. Not that she consciously decided or anything, it’s just that guys kept dating her and she enjoyed that well enough. Sure, she couldn’t seem to make it work with any of them, but that could be blamed on the job, she kept telling herself.

Maura doesn’t mind her job, in fact she actively understands and supports Jane in doing it. Jane can easily share a bed with her best friend, or spend leisurely evenings sharing wine and dinner, which in another light could be seen as dating. The only thing that was missing was the physical, and now, if pressed, Jane would have to admit that _not_ touching Maura is a bigger problem. Whether it’s a way to say ‘hey, I’m alive’, or just the fact that Maura looks amazing in that dress, Jane doesn’t know.

She does know that she should say all this to Maura, who looks like confessing an actual emotion has caused her physical pain. She also looks ready to bolt, and no matter what, Jane can’t let that happen. So, while words will most likely fail her, Jane Rizzoli still has one trick up her sleeve.

With one step forward, it’s so easy to lay her hands on Maura’s arms. It’s effortless to draw Maura closer, watching the confusion on her face give way to sudden understanding. And kissing her? Hell, that turns out to be the easiest part of all.

They’re both a little hesitant at first, the kiss little more than a deliberate brushing of their lips, but it quickly develops into more. Jane feels Maura’s elegant fingers slip into the tangles of her messy hair and a little moan bubbles up at the base of her throat.

She wants this. Any last hopes of denial evaporate as Maura’s tongue slips past Jane’s lips, deepening the kiss until they’re forced to part for air. Unwilling to surrender too much contact, Jane lets her forehead rest against Maura’s, breathing heavily as she wonders what to say now.

“Oh,” is Maura’s contribution, and Jane can’t help but laugh. It’s the first time she’s laughed in days, and it feels good even though she’s fragile.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” Jane forms the question, even though the answer is already obvious.

“You’re not cleared for sex,” Maura states with her customary bluntness.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, Dr. Isles, but I don’t put out on the first date. I’m a good Catholic girl!”

Which makes it Maura’s turn to laugh, because Jane’s no more religious than she is.

“I wouldn’t assume, Detective. Though this kissing is something I’d like to try more of. Shall we?”

And really, how can Jane argue with a brilliant idea like that


End file.
